Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Bryce
“We ain’t cool… we just clear.”
Ihad my ear to that door like a lion tracking footsteps in his territory. I don’t do messy, but I’ll entertain it if it walks past my domain.
I wasn’t trying to hear everything between Chesteria and Isis, but once I caught the name Journey, I couldn’t walk away… not when I knew where that name came from.
Journey Dior.
Our baby girl was the reason I kissed the necklace hanging from my rearview before starting the engine.
I clenched my jaw and backed up slowly. The weight of her name was still heavy on my chest.
I heard soft-ass breathing behind me. I turned my head just enough to see Adrian also ear hustling, like a damn Scooby Doo villain.
Without moving my face, I muttered low, “Nigga, get back before you get us caught!”
He jumped and backed up two steps like he touched a hot stove. We both stood there like guilty teenagers in a church hallway.
“Shid, I’m trying to be nosy too. But aye, since they talking, let me holla at you outside,”
I narrowed my eyes. “’Bout what?”
“Just…come on.”
I hesitated, but then grabbed my coat off the hook, tugged on my beanie, and followed him out onto the porch. The snow had stopped, but it was cold enough to make the tips of my fingers remember they were alive.
I sat down on the wooden bench, then Adrian hit me with small talk.
“Man… this snow crazy, huh? Like, did you see how thick it was coming down last night?”
“Nigga… I know you didn’t bring me out here to talk about the weather. This ain’t Channel 5 and you damn sure ain’t Broke-ass Al Roker. Speak up before I hit you with a snowball and a silence.”
“Aight. I ain’t know you still loved her.”
I exhaled. “Chesteria was my college sweetheart… my first real everything… and the mother of my daughter,” I confessed.
Adrian’s head turned like a broken swivel. “Wait… daughter?”
I nodded. “Yeah… we had a stillborn. You must wasn’t listening too hard… or too long.”
“Nah. But that explains a lot. I always wondered why she flinched or wanted to change the subject every time I said something about kids.”
My eyes slid over to him. “Please tell me you wasn’t trying to have a baby with her.”
“Hell nah! I got enough damn kids! And Chesteria don’t play about that raw-dog life. She the only woman I know who carries condoms in a Ziploc like they’re essential supplies.”
I cracked a smirk at the memory. “Yeah, she been that way since college.”
Adrian kept going. “Like, bruh… one night we was about to get it in, I reached over one night, and she slapped a Magnum in my hand like—”
“Aye, chill!” I cut in. “I don’t need all those details.
I’m the blueprint, remember? So I know how she operates.
I also know how good her pussy is… and how it tightens when she’s close.
And about that trick hip too—the one she only bring out when she’s feeling safe, seen, loved, and not just fucked.
So maybe you ain’t unlock that experience yet.
And her mouth? She don’t give that to just anybody either.
That’s not just head; that’s a privilege, that’s earned, that’s her putting yo’ soul on the tip of her tongue.
You gotta be stamped to get that special treatment. ”
“I guess you stamped in places I ain’t even been invited.” He then looked out at the snow, shook his head, and added, “This shit is wild though, man. Never thought I’d be snowed in at a cabin.”
I snorted lightly. “Shit… who you telling.”
“Nah, for real. This some Tyler Perry plot twist shit. All we missing is a long-lost sibling, a cheating husband, a secret baby, and Madea kicking in the door talkin’ ‘bout ‘hellurrr!’”
I chuckled.
Adrian looked at me, sincere for once. “Look, I ain’t trying to beef with you, Bryce. I respect what you and Chesteria had… still have. I was just trying to get to know her better.”
I stared at him for a moment, then finally replied, “Respect. We can be cordial.”
Adrian exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.
“But listen… stay in your lane,” I added with an edge of warning in my tone, “Chesteria might not be mine right now, but she still mine.”
He tossed his hands up in surrender, laughing. “You got it, man.”
“I’ma head back inside,” I announced, pushing myself up from the chair, stretching.
Behind me, Adrian dug around in his pocket and pulled out a blunt like it was a family heirloom.
“Aight. I’ma stay behind and smoke. You wanna hit?”
My face twisted like he had offered me crack on communion Sunday. “Hell nah, nigga! I’m a pilot… a whole professional. You already know white folks hate to see us in positions like that. They be shocked as hell when they hear my voice on the intercom, ‘Captain Bryce Frost will be flying you today.”
Adrian laughed.
“Real shit, I’ve had passengers cancel their flight the moment they realize I’m the one flying the damn plane.
I had this one lady look me dead in my face and ask for another pilot like I was finna crash us for fun.
So if I come back from break smelling like weed?
Man, TSA, HR, and Jesus gon’ be waiting for me at the damn gate… all holding hands with a drug test.”
Adrian lit the blunt, took a slow drag, and released the smoke with the kind of peace only unemployment could buy.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d hate a job where I couldn’t smoke.
Can you at least drink? Hell, you need something as a stress reliever doing that kind of work.
I’d probably be on heroin if I had to—” He paused, rethinking it.
“Well, not heroin-heroin, but like, the baby cousin of heroin. Just something’ to cope… a lil’ emotional support narcotic.”
“You need therapy,” I said.
He shrugged, unapologetic.
“But yeah,” I went on, “I can drink. I just have to wait eight hours before flying. But trust me, after dealing with people who clap when the plane lands like I ain’t do my damn job? Yeah. I drink frequently… classy though. Whiskey, not weed-dust.”
“So what made you wanna become a pilot anyway?” Adrian questioned, as he leaned back against the porch post.
“What made you wanna be a drug dealer?” I shot back.
Adrian thought of his answer for a whole two seconds. “The money.”
I shook my head slowly. “Exactly. The difference is, I always wanted to be a pilot; money just showed up with it. You wanted fast money; I wanted legacy.”
Adrian blinked again, like that registered in his little hustle brain.
“On some real shit,” he said after a pause, “if you would’ve told me you were a pilot, I would’ve never guessed that shit. You don’t look like one, and you damn sure don’t talk like one.”
I chuckled softly, not offended in the slightest. “Just because I grew up wanting to be a pilot, doesn’t mean that was always the path I was on. For a dumb moment in my life, I wanted to sell drugs too.”
“Word?” Adrian exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. “You?”
“Yeah… me, nigga. I did the same shit everybody else thought was cool back then—smoking, partying, staying out all night, and moving reckless just to say I was outside,” I revealed, casual but honest. “Being a kingpin looked sweet. Fast money… no boss… everybody respecting you for doing the least.”
He chuckled. “That sounds about right. I started doing this shit when I was young… fifteen to be exact. At the time, I didn’t really understand the cost, though; I just saw the highlights.
Never paid attention to how tired them niggas looked, how they never really relaxed, always watching the door, always jumping when a car slowed down too much.
I just wanted the money and respect.” He paused, then shrugged.
“I got a lil’ money… and some respect too.
Can’t even front. But on some real shit?
This shit is exhausting. Always moving, always thinking, always one eye open. That ain’t what’s up no more.”
I nodded, letting him talk.
Adrian looked at me then. “So what made you decide, ‘Nah… this ain’t really what I wanna do?’”
“Reality and conversations. Going to college and being with Chesteria made me slow down. Me and her used to talk a lot about our future—kids, stability, and what we didn’t want our lives to look like.
” My jaw tightened just a little. “I started thinking about my child sitting in a classroom one day, and a teacher asking, ‘So what does your dad do?’ and my kid gotta say, ‘I don’t know. He stay gone all the time, he always wears black, he carries a gun and has bags of money he never explains. Then the other kids start whispering, teachers start side-eyeing, now everybody knowing something ain’t right, but nobody saying it out loud. ”
“Damn,” Adrian mumbled, as the picture started to look a little too familiar.
“Right. That ain’t the type of mystery you want attached to your name.
That’s how kids grow up embarrassed, confused or thinking that’s the goal.
” I looked directly at Adrian. “Being in the streets feels cool when nobody’s depending on you and ain’t nobody waiting on you to make it home.
But once you got little eyes watching you?
Especially boys? You gotta move different.
They don’t just hear what you say; they copy what you do. ”
Adrian shifted, listening.
“I don’t have kids… not yet,” I added. “But I already know I don’t want my future son learning manhood from rumors, money he can’t explain, or a father he barely sees.
Street life don’t come with sick days or guarantees.
And kids don’t care how respected you are outside; they care if you show up when it’s needed.
” I exhaled. “Adrian, you ain’t a bad father for trying to survive, but you gotta think long-term, and about the example you’re setting. ”
Adrian nodded slowly. “Never really thought about it like that.”
“Again, I ain’t judging. All I’m saying is, a man making it home every night is more powerful than a quick lick or being a man everybody scared of.”
That one sat heavy, but in a good way.
“Preciate the advice, homie. But before you go, can I ask you one more favor?”
I side-eyed him, half-suspicious. “What?”
He scratched his neck, eyes darting everywhere but on me. “Can you teach me how to… you know… do manly stuff?”
“Manly stuff?” I repeated, cocking a brow.
“You know!” He looked embarrassed. “Like… change oil, grill chicken without catching it on fire, build a shelf, split logs, fix a toilet—shit like that. All I know how to do is roll blunts and reset my Wi-Fi. I wanna be useful in the apocalypse, bruh!”
I laughed. “Adrian, you gotta be every bit of thirty-five, at least, and just now wanna learn how to work a plunger?”
“I ain’t say all that,” he grumbled.
“Nah, you said what you said. So you want me to give you a manhood makeover, huh?”
He hunched his shoulders. “Shit, why not? If I’ma be single and healing, I might as well learn how to hold a power drill and my emotions at the same time.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Bet. Lesson one starts today… or tomorrow. It just depends on my mood.”
He perked up, grinning. “Deadass?”
“Yeah. And lesson number one will be, how to hold a level without looking like you’re trying to take a selfie.”
“Damn, I was just trying to get my angle!”
“Nigga, ain’t no angles in construction… just 90 degrees and common sense.”
Adrian laughed. “So you saying I ain’t got no sense?”
I squinted at him. “I’m saying, your common sense still got the factory seal on it.”
We both cracked up as the wind rolled through the porch. Truth was, he had a long way to go. But for once, it looked like the nigga was finally trying to build something that didn’t involve bricks… and I could respect that.